


Here in this Room, this Narrow Room

by Calliopinot



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, NSFW, PWP, Smut, but also emotions, man boning, shameless shameless smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 09:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12273717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calliopinot/pseuds/Calliopinot
Summary: A couple of Scandinavian guitarists see where the evening takes them.(Porn without plot, smut without shame.)





	Here in this Room, this Narrow Room

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Garbage Can Playlist](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8745925) by [little_murmaider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_murmaider/pseuds/little_murmaider). 



> An NSFW sequel to [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8745925/chapters/27368289) by Skwistok/general goddess [little_murmaider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_murmaider/pseuds/little_murmaider), with her blessing, because I am a perv and couldn't resist. The first line here is the last line of her fic.

**_"You're de fucking_ woirst _,"_ _Skwisgaar gritted, and pulled him in._**

 

Distracted by his own giddiness, Toki didn't notice his body being manipulated. The tender crush of pillowy, yet masculine, lips bring him back into the moment. For a second, a split second, he leans into the kiss, before reason overtakes his drunken senses. 

"Okay, we's evens now." Skwisgaar is fucking with him. He has to be. Right? No way he's going to let passion take him for a fool. Not again.

Toki moves to extricate himself from Skwisgaar’s grasp, but the older man holds firm. 

“Not yet, we amen’ts.” In one fluid motion, he snakes his arms around the Norwegian, slinking one hand around the small of his back and threading the other into the soft hairs at the base of his skull. Those icy ocean blues are swamped by heavy lids and dilated pupils, and they are locked on Toki.

“Oh.”

The hand in Toki’s hair tugs ever so gently, encouraging the man’s head to tilt back and bare his neck. Anticipating lips, teeth, tongue, something that will send a shock of eroticism deep into his core, Toki braces himself against Skwisgaar’s shoulders. But his exposed flesh is met only with long, hot breaths and the faintest brush of skin.

He shudders under the sheer delicacy of the move.

_Show me your moves._

“Ohhhh.” It’s half realization, half lust-ruined moan. Because if this were _all_ performance, he wouldn’t be feeling a rapidly stiffening piece of Skwisgaar’s anatomy grinding subtly against the taut muscles of his abdomen.

“Fucks you, Skwisgaar.” Shit, that didn’t even sound convincing to him.

“Don’ts gets ahead of yousself, littles Toki.” The breath against his throat, the steady rhythm of hips, the sexy taunt. Toki’s hands move of their own accord to cup Skwisgaar’s jaws, and he smashes their mouths together.

The look in his deep blue eyes, the musky, floral smell of those golden locks, the press of calloused fingers against his scalp. Toki plies Skwisgaar’s mouth open in search of his tongue. That sharp, venomous tongue that has delivered such soul-cleaving insults is now sending jolts of pleasure through his very being with every swipe.

An inadvertent moan issues from somewhere deep within Toki or Skwisgaar – neither is sure whom right now – but the echo off the cavernous stone walls reminds them they’re standing in a very public hallway. And their current position, clinging to each other like infant possums desperate for survival, limbs coiled around bodies and tongues following suit, could result in very public embarrassment.

A shared glance, though, confirms whatever consequences could result from this liaison are limited only to what others might see. This is happening, one way or another.

 

Skwisgaar wordlessly grabs Toki by the wrist and sets off toward his room. But after a few paces, he stops. No, he is stopped. He whirls around to find Toki, stubbornly standing stock still in the middle of the hallway. The look on his face is one of conquest; combined with an Adonic stature (and physique), Skwisgaar is quite sure he’s never seen anything more intimidating or sexy in his life.

“Toki –” Skwisgaar laces the fingers of the hand holding Toki’s wrist into his. Turning on the charm to get his way will surely work. It always works.

But Toki returns the move with a lascivious smirk, and a less than gentle squeeze.

“I won, Skwisgaar.” He snaps his wrist, pulling the man into him with a jerky stumble. “I takes you to bed.”

The luscious growl, the hand beginning to palm his crotch – it’s almost enough to acquiesce. But Skwisgaar is Skwisgaar, for the love of fuck.

“Come ons, littles Toki, I shows you de real moves –” A high-pitched laugh cuts through his effort at seduction, followed by strange, sharp pressure on his stomach. Before he can protest, Skwisgaar is hoisted into the air, slung over Toki’s shoulder like a prize hard won.

“What de fucks… Agh!” Toki silences his bitching with a firm slap to the ass, then carries him caveman style down the hall to his tiny quarters.

Skwisgaar is tempted to object to the treatment, especially after being dumped so unceremoniously onto the young man’s submarine cot of a bed, but something about being tossed around like a piece of meat about to get fucked into next Tuesday is incredibly goddamned hot. That, plus the rapidly undressing Norwegian making his way to join him on the bed.

He makes to catch up to Toki, who’s clad now only in black silk boxers, but the younger man gently stills his hands.

“Lets me.” That deadly seductive tone has returned to his voice, eliminating in Skwisgaar any desire to protest. His eyes flutter shut and a choked sigh escapes his throat as Toki returns his fingers to his lips, probing the calloused pads reverently before placing both hands on the pillow above Skwisgaar’s head.

Toki frees the hem of the man’s black tank from the waistband of his jeans and inches it upward. Skwisgaar shivers at the chill cast over the newly exposed flesh… or perhaps it’s the slow circular patterns Toki traces over the area with thumbs and tongue. Inch by inch he works north in this fashion, hands massaging Skwisgaar’s sides as they hike the garment further up.

Inch by inch, Skwisgaar’s resolve wanes; he has never, ever engaged in foreplay like this. Why bother, with groupie sluts aplenty whose only purpose is to put you-know-what into side of them? And it’s not like anybody has ever cared enough to treat _him_ like this, either.

The thought slams into his chest like a ton of bricks – the chest this beautiful brunet is currently caressing and licking and nibbling…

“Toki!” He gasps, just as a nipple disappears into the Norwegian’s mouth. He looks up at his senior with concern.

“Skwisgaar?! Ams you okay?” Alarm sets in at the panicked expression on the Swede’s face. But Skwisgaar merely holds his gaze, stress and fear and loneliness dissolving the longer he regards this man, this man, this goofy kid from that other Scandinavian country who means… everything to him.

“Ja. I ams.” He laces his fingers into that cascading chestnut hair and pulls Toki’s face to his. “I ams okay nows, littles Toki.” The kiss is nothing like the seductive, or teasing, or possessive ones they shared earlier. It is lovely in its passionate simplicity. Tingling lips press together lightly, firmly, softly, exploring the variety of sensations each can deliver the other.

An insistent erection reminds Skwisgaar of its presence with a painful throb, hips reflexively bucking into Toki’s. The young man abandons his careful exploration of Skwisgaar’s body in favor of the imminent release toward which they are both headily careening. Strong hands all but rip the tank top apart as they yank it over that blond head. Skwisgaar leans up to capture one of the other man’s nipples, sucking unmercifully while one hand artfully unhooks his belt buckle and button fly.

“Holy fucks,” Toki gasps, gripping a hunk of blond locks with one hand and bracing himself against the headboard with the other. He is vaguely aware of Skwisgaar’s ministrations beneath him – some fidgeting followed by two heavy thunks indicate shed boots; an arch of the hips and frenetic scrambling yield an unclothed, rock hard cock, which presses impatiently against his ass through the silk fabric of his underwear. Shit. Should’ve taken those off before. Such a showman, even playing second fiddle… but straddling Skwisgaar is the best position in the world, better than rhythm guitarist for Dethklok – shit, better than _lead_ guitarist for Dethklok – and if Toki died right here he would ride into Valhalla a happy man.

Skwisgaar has other plans.

 

With a swift press of his hips, he rolls them over, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Toki’s boxers and sliding them off in one fell swoop. On his feet at the end of the bed, he can fully consider the man before him for the first time. Ordinarily mousy brown hair shines in a messy arc around his head; chiseled pectoral muscles heave with heavy, lustful breaths; swollen cock resting almost sweetly against absurdly stacked abdominals; understated thighs capable of delivering god knows what power into those hips…

A quick glance at equally hungry blue eyes and Skwisgaar descends on his cock.

“Skwisgaar! Fuck!” Toki didn’t expect him to dive in with such abandon. He had a feeling the Swede had luckied his share of guys – his fondness for hot dogs is on the record, after all – but deepthroating Toki on his first attempt literally and figuratively blew the young man away.

For his part, Skwisgaar just really wanted his dick. That much was clear. A few seconds relishing the taste of it, and the idea of it, and the sheer size of it filling his mouth, then he gets to work, drawing back, cheeks hollow, until just the head rests behind his lips. The tip of his tongue circles around the sensitive glans then up the slit, pressing in to extract tiny buds of precum. The taste nearly sends him over the top, but he’s not ready for this to be over, not yet. A deep, calming release of breath sends a cool channel of air over Toki’s wet cock, and he feels the man shudder under his touch. His cheeks pulse, sucking the head a few times before pulling off to swallow and steady himself.

Skwisgaar is about to go back for seconds when a hand at the crown of his head stops him cold. He looks up at Toki, curious, but the young man is at a loss for words – eyes screwed shut, gasping for air, hips twitching against Skwisgaar’s phantom touch. The Swede can’t help but feel a little sorry for the kid – and a little proud of himself. He takes the opportunity to slick two fingers with saliva and press one, experimentally, to Toki’s waiting hole.

“Oh gud, du prøver å drepe meg.” Skwisgaar chuckles at the switch to Toki’s native language as he pushes his middle finger deeper into the Norwegian. He’s rewarded with a yelp, and a moan.

“No, just fucks you.” The words are accompanied by a second finger, and a louder moan.

“But I’s – I won – I’s – fucks you –” Toki’s words catch on each thrust of Skwisgaar’s fingers.

“You gets you’s chance, min lilla Tokis.” With that, he withdraws his fingers. Incredulous, lust-blown eyes follow his hand to the nightstand – the only place anyone ever keeps lube; in Toki’s case, next to a “real cool codpiece.” Skwisgaar grabs an oil-based variety – the night is young, after all – and pours a dollop into Toki’s left hand.

The young man spreads the tingly oil over the head of the Swede’s throbbing cock with an open palm, drawing down the impressive length with rough, calloused fingertips.

“Ohhh ja…” The sensation is exactly what Skwisgaar was after. Toki’s breath quickens along with the pace of his hand – so talented, despite what present company might otherwise say.

“Kiss me,” the Norwegian demands. Skwisgaar leads with his tongue, sweeping over Toki’s lips before dipping inside. Refusing to break apart, he grapples for the other man’s hand and stills it, grinding their hips together, once, before instructing him to lie flat on his stomach.

One quick circle of the tender, waiting flesh is all the warning Skwisgaar gives before he pushes in.

“Aaaahh!”

“Fucks! Fuck agh…”

The first inch is always the most delicious.

Skwisgaar waits, trembling, for Toki to adjust, but at once the young man is arching his back and canting his hips into him. “Mores! _Fuck_ Skwisgaar fucking gives it to mes…” he trails off, scrabbling for leverage to push himself onto that teasing prick. Skwisgaar happily obliges, plunging in to the hilt before stilling, his body pressed flat against a deliriously moaning Toki.

“You can takes me, ja?” He’s seen the “codpiece.” He knows this is not Toki’s first rodeo… and even if not, he’ll make a cowboy out of him yet.

“Fucks… ja… please, fuck me, hard… Skwisgaar _please_.”

The older man retains enough of his lothario swagger, even in light of a plea that takes the heart out of him, to press his lips to his junior’s ear with a growl: “Then holds onto something.”

 

Toki’s screams shatter the relative quiet of the evening thus far. It’s music to Skwisgaar’s ears, set to the brutal rhythm of his hips pounding down into the man below. His fingers dig, arms locked, into the small of Toki’s lower back, creating an angle of attack that yields a direct and relentless strike on that sweet spot deep inside. 

“Ja! Ja! Ja! Ja!”

The bed rocks while their bodies roll. Toki is beside himself; it’s all he can do to reach out for the headboard and hold on for dear life.

“Ahhhgh – gud – SKWISGAAR!!!” His name is punctuated by a clenching of the muscles that envelop his cock. He slows his pace and lifts Toki by the shoulders, riding out the orgasm upright, together. Circling a hand around Toki’s cock, Skwisgaar desperately pumps out every last drop of cum, panting and gasping as if it were his own sweet climax.

 

Skwisgaar wants to press him into the wall now, fuck him from behind against the cold jagged stone until they both collapse into a heap of pain and pleasure and sweat and semen… but the way Toki is right now, leaning here against his chest, arm slung helplessly back around his neck, other hand grasping his hip as it continues to glide into his, muttering an incoherent mix of English and Norwegian and even a little Swedish… Skwisgaar wants nothing more than to hold him here for a little while, or forever.

Something’s wrong here. He hasn’t come yet. He’s happy, and comfortable, and enjoying the fuck out of this, and he hasn’t even gotten off. He can’t process that these feelings have been wrought by the same scruffy little guitarist who begged him for an audition all those years ago, the thorn in his side and anchor to his ship that’s been an inextricable part of his very _identity_ for almost his entire adult life. 

The shortness of breath Skwisgaar is experiencing has little to do with the current ministrations of the spirited Norwegian, who has taken to rutting his ass against his cock… although that definitely helps get his train of thought back on track.

Skwisgaar wraps a hand around Toki’s rapidly restiffening dick, eliciting a moan from the younger man. Toki replaces his hands on the headboard, bending at the waist and driving his hips back into Skwisgaar’s. Tentatively at first but with increasing confidence, Toki thrusts his ass backwards onto Skwisgaar’s cock. His pace is brutal. His ass glides relentlessly on the Swede, fucking him, to Skwisgaar’s surprise.

“Herregud, Toki…”

He grasps the Norwegian’s hip with his free hand, fingers digging into tanned flesh as he begins to meet him thrust for thrust, watching his cock disappear over and over in a dizzying display of passion. Sweat binds long, blond hair to his face and drips onto the muscular back of his paramour, breath quickening and rhythm deteriorating.

“Comes inside of me, Skwisgaar.”

_Oh._

The first few pulses escape on command, before the Swede’s brain can even register the raw sensation. Wave after wave of blinding pleasure crashes into him and radiates out to his every nerve. When after an eternity or a nanosecond he regains his breath, Skwisgaar punctuates his orgasm with a single shout and all but disintegrates atop Toki, pulling the man onto his side with him.

Skwisgaar is trembling, breaths irregular when he can remember to take them. He has never experienced anything like this – like any of this. Not this brutal, unexpected emotion; not this sweet mustachioed face now staring, dare he say, lovingly back at him, peppering delicate kisses all over his sweaty brow. This man, this goofball of a man, this _Toki_.

“Min lilla Toki _._ ” It’s all he can manage right now, but he hopes it to convey all he means. Skwisgaar presses a sloppy, sleepy, still-kinda-drunk kiss to the other man’s lips. Then pulls back with a smirk.

“I t’inks I ams de winners, ja?” He laughs more than he should at his dumb joke, so delightfully peaked are the hormones coursing through his system.

But victory is fleeting.

In an instant, Skwisgaar is rolled into his back, hard-earned breath now lost once more, staring up into lascivious, slate-blue eyes.

“Fucks you, Skwisgaar.” The tone, that delicious tone.

It’s Toki’s turn, at last.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a lyric from 33 "GOD" by Bon Iver, which I added as an afterthought to keep the theme of little_murmaider's Garbage Can Playlist, but hey look it fits!


End file.
